


Three Soldiers And A Spy Walk Into A Car...

by theragingstorm



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky the Taylor Swift Fan, Canon Semi Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Crack, Dialogue-Only, Dick Jokes, Domestic Avengers, Friendship, Gen, Humor, M/M, Multi, Natasha is not helping, Sam and Bucky: notorious frenemies, that little VW has seen some shit, that should be a more common tag tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...Sounds like the start of a bad joke."</p>
<p>This is the reason that T'Challa kicked them out of the palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Soldiers And A Spy Walk Into A Car...

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, when I'm stressed, I do the responsible thing: shirk my longer WIP, put off studying for my finals, and write inappropriate humor instead.

“Alright everyone, get in the car.”

“Shotgun!”

“No Sam, get in the back.”

“What? Why?”

“Nat already called shotgun two hours ago during breakfast.”

“Suck a dick, Wilson.”

“Wait. You mean I gotta sit next to _him_ the whole way!?”

“Aww, Stevie!”

“Both of you knock it off. We promised T'Challa we’d get the groceries this time, and Nat called shotgun. You really gonna argue with her?”

“Natalia’s an asshole; she always tips the seat all the way back.”

“That’s because I need the space for my legs.”

“You literally have the shortest legs out of all of us.”

“Just get in the goddamn car you two.”

“Fine, but Barnes better not hog the back again.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Barnes, move over.”

“I’m hungry.”

“We literally had breakfast two hours ago.”

“That’s fourteen hours in dog time.”

“Buck…”

“…And I didn’t have time to eat; Clint wanted to show me this video of a cat that could play the piano–”

“Seriously? He only showed me pictures of cats eating their own tails; the traitor.”

“–and I’m hungry.”

“You might have mentioned that already.”

“Steve, can we pull over? There’s a stand over there that’s selling whole fried bananas–”

“And we all know how you feel about eating long cylindrical objects, James.”

“NATASHA!”

“What?”

“Oh, shut up Natalia. Fine, no bananas, but how about the homemade donuts?”

“You _like_ those? They look like assholes." 

"I don’t think James has a problem with eating those, either.”

“NATASHAAAAA!”

“Look at his face; he’s redder than the American flag–”

“No food stands.”

“Really, Steve? You’re going to deprive him of the opportunity to–”

“NO FOOD STANDS.”

“Awww, come on…”

 

* * *

 

 

“STEEEEVE!”

“I don’t _care_ if you’re hungry, Bucky; you should’ve had breakfast before we left–”

“It’s not that! Sam’s putting his shoes in my lap!”

“That’s hardly the grossest thing you’ve had in your lap, James.”

“Sam, get your shoes out of Bucky’s lap.”

“But he called Redwing a mindless robot!”

“Bucky!”

“Well, it is…”

“Both of you move over right now!”

“Jesus, Steve.”

“This is MY half of the backseat; got it, Tweety Bird? And that is YOUR half of the backseat, and you stay on your half, and – I SAW THAT, YOU WINGED JACKASS!”

“ _Bucky!_ ”

“He’s putting his fingers on my half of the seat!”

“You were being a dick.”

“Well, you were being an asshole.”

“Don’t say it, Natasha.”

“I didn’t even say anything…”

“Bastard.”

“Motherfucker.”

“You fucked your two best friends.”

“What, and that’s worse?”

“Yeah, it implies that you can’t keep your friends without giving them some incentive to stay.”

“Wilson, that’s below the belt. Literally.”

“Yeah, she’s right. Except I was just going to say that you’re a cock.”

“Buck, there’s no difference between a dick and a cock.”

“Says who?”

“Says me; that’s wh–”

“Steve, no. Don’t get involved. We don’t get involved in these things. We sit and we silently judge them; confident in our superiority. No getting involved.”

“Yeah, like he’s ever been good at _silently_ judging anyone…”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m gonna put on the radio.”

“Why does _she_ get to put on the radio?”

“Because she doesn’t put on the crappy pop music every time, Barnes.”

“Taylor Swift is not crappy! She’s a goddamn inspiration and one of the only good things about this godforsaken future!”

“Looks like you’ve got some competition, Steve.”

“I’m not going to get jealous of Taylor Swift, Nat.”

“You sure? She’s exactly his type…”

“What’s his type?”

“Blonde, blue-eyed, compulsive do-gooder; everyone thinks they’re a sweetheart but they’re also petty as hell.”

“Where does that leave you?”

“I surpass types, Steve. Everyone, no matter their sexuality or physical preferences, is at least twelve percent attracted to me." 

"Fair enough.”

“You won’t even try to listen to good music, Barnes. Somewhere, the ghost of Marvin Gaye is crying over you.”

“And somewhere, the ghost of my grandmother is crying over me because I regularly fuck a guy. What’s your point?”

“I’m getting Scott’s friends to lock you out of your iTunes account.”

“Try it, and I’ll get Wanda to make your toiletries float out the window again.”

“Bucky! You did _what?_ ”

“Looks like someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight…”

“Fuck off; when was the last time you got laid at all?”

“ _Bucky!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“Make Natalia change the radio station.”

“Make James stop kicking my seat first.”

“And make him stop hogging the back while you’re at it.”

“I’m not hogging anything; your ass is just too big for the backseat.”

“Whereas _your_ pasty ass looks like a squashed cardboard box.”

“Steve! He’s insulting my ass! Defend your property!”

“Maybe I should take a leaf out of Clint’s book and get eighty percent of _my_ hearing knocked out…”

 

* * *

 

 

“For the last time; you’re _wrong._ ”

“But there’s literally no difference! It’s the same thing; just different words!”

“No, look at it this way: a dick is just there, you know? A cock is taking an active interest in something. Like…this.”

“Please never ever make that gesture while you’re sitting next to me ever again.”

“Buck, you’re overthinking this.”

“No, you’re _under_ thinking this.”

“You _can_ think too much about dicks, you know.”

“Says who?”

“Says me – we _just_ went over this.”

“To the deep misfortune of those of us in the same vehicle as you.”

“Think too much, my ass…why am I sleeping with you again?”

“Because you have no self-control.”

“ _I_ have no self-control? You want me to tell your cute new friends about the incident with the ice cream, the stray cat, and Debby Harris’ underwear?”

“Yes, please.”

“No, don’t.”

“Oh god, of all the things you could’ve remembered…”

“Say that there’s a difference between a cock and a dick.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it, Steven.”

“No.”

“I’m having the sudden urge to never eat bananas ever again.”

“Don’t be a baby, Sam.”

“Say it!”

“Eat my ass.”

“Already did that.”

“And now I’m never eating donuts again either.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Natalia, get your seat out of my face or I swear I’ll shoot you again.”

“Please. Like you could beat me in a fair fight, old man.”

“You really gonna tease him about being an old man _and_ talk about your past sex life?”

“What kind of teasing amateur do you think I am? Combining the two is easy. For example, I could say that he needed Viagra just to go at it for fifteen minutes.”

“…he did?”

“I DID NOT.”

“Steve, if you laugh any harder you’re going to swerve off the road.”

“Sor–sorry, oh my god.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Traitor. And Natalia’s seat’s still in my face.”

“That’s _your_ problem, dinosaur dick.”

“I’m leaving all of you and hanging out with only T'Challa from now on.”

“He tried to kill you. Multiple times.”

“At least he was polite about it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Steve, you think you could stop for slushies?”

“Now _you’re_ hungry?”

“I’m not hungry; I’m thirsty. How could I possibly be hungry after listening to you and Nat and Sergeant Asshole talk for however long I’ve been stuck in here?”

“There’ll be slushies at the grocery store; just hang on, okay?”

“If you want, we could make sure that he’s not thirsty either.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Yeah guys, come on. Don’t be gross right now. Or rather, don’t be any more gross.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Change the radio station.”

“Suck my clit, James.”

“He won’t be doing _that_ again either.”

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s it. I don’t care if you don’t like my music; kick my seat one more time and I’ll punch you in the nuts again.”

“When did you punch him in the nuts? And more importantly, is there video footage?”

“It was in back in Germany when Zemo Winter Soldier-ed him. Though it must not have affected him that much, because from what Steve’s told me–”

“What, exactly, has Steve told you?”

“Nothing!”

“–from what Steve’s told me about the thing with the helicopter–”

“They banged in a helicopter?”

“NO, WE DIDN’T.”

“Unfortunately no; but what really happened was that Steve’s biceps were powerful enough to snap James out of his Winter Soldier state and unlock his kinky choking state instead; so at least some of his nuts must’ve recovered by then.”

“That is not even remotely what I told you happened.”

“What, you don’t think his nuts had recovered by then? Then again, I suppose you would know them better than me at this point.”

“Natalia, even I know that in the twenty-first century that it’s generally frowned on to keep referring to your ex’s testicles in front of said ex’s current boyfriend.”

“It’s okay. Steve and I are better friends because of it. Right, Steve?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why we’re friends. We grew to care for each other because we both have the same taste in fine ass and both know what yours looks like.”

“I’m feeling very objectified right now.”

“If you want, I could make you feel better by insulting your ass again.”

“Screw off, Wilson.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Steve, why are we stopping at the mall?”

“That’s the grocery store.”

“ _That’s_ the grocery store!? It looks like something out of Star Wars. Like, are we gonna walk in there and buy space fruit?”

“…how often have you guys left the palace since we got here?”

“I went out to the jungle a few times. A snake tried to eat me, so I killed it with a twig.”

“Why am I not surprised…”

“Steve, we’re kind of international criminals. Besides, most of the food we eat is delivered right to the palace…come to think of it, why is it only _now_ that we’re being sent out to do grocery shopping?”

“Because T'Challa wants us out of his sight.”

“Why would he–”

“The scandal you two caused with the hospital bed and the foreign ambassadors.”

“How were we supposed to know that they’d come in to check on me?”

“Redwing crashing into the throne room after you used it to cheat at laser tag.”

“It’s not Redwing’s fault the chandelier was so breakable. And what about you? What about how you started sparring with the Dora Milaje and ended up breaking through the walls?”

“They’re the only living women I know who match my strength; was I just supposed to stop?”

“So…the point is that we’re shitty guests.”

“…yes we are.”

“Okay, new resolution: we only act like dicks to each other and not the very nice and handsome gentleman who’s letting us stay in his home, _capiche?_ ”

“Yessir, Cap'n Wilson.”

“I can do that.”

“I’m so proud of you guys.”

“Yeah, yeah, get sappy.”

“Sure. James has greasy hair, Steve looks like he has a pole up his ass, and Sam has a terrible sense of humor.”

“And _there’s_ the petty-insults version of our love I know so well. Come on, let’s go get the damn food.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, since we’re being dicks to each other I can officially say that that’s the last time I ever go anywhere with you dumbass white people.”

“Not my fault.”

“Yeah, it was his fault.”

“Jesus. You knock over three lousy display stands and suddenly everybody’s yelling at you. It’s not like I killed anyone. Now _that_ would’ve made a real mess in the ice cream aisle.”

“I’m not going to even ask.”

“You know, them kicking us out might also have had something to do with Nat yelling at me in the middle of the fruit section and gesturing with those…watermelons.”

“I was only trying to help you. You have all that power and no idea what to do with it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“She’s talking about the tight shirts you always wear, man.”

“You know, the ones where your tits are practically bursting out?”

“Oh my god – _pecs,_ Bucky, _pecs._ ”

“Tits tits tits.”

“Steve doesn’t like that kind of talk.”

“You know what, Romanoff–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I am wasted on you idiots. James, shake a leg and get the milk jugs into the back.”

“I would, but I don’t think Steve could fit in the back.”

“They’re literally all muscle, Bucky!”

“Oh my god, dude, look at your face!”

“This is even better than when T'Challa’s friends caught them going at it in that hospital bed.”

“ _Et tu,_ Sam and Natasha?”

“ _Et nos,_ Steve.”

“Huh, she really does speak Latin.”

“Damn right I do. Someday I’m going to teach you the joke I know about a senator, an orator, and a horse that all walk into the Colosseum.”

“It can’t be any weirder than the joke our lives have all become.”

“The Dora Milaje disagree. Now come on, help me get the bags.”

“ _I_ call shotgun this time.”

“Fine, but I’m driving.”

“And let Bucky and Steve sit in the back together? Are you nuts? Wait, don’t answer that.”

“Maybe if we sit in the back and they get the front, the ride back will be less irritating.”

“I doubt it. Nothing we can do will make it less irritating.”

“Maybe you’re right…can I sit in your lap during the car ride?”

“No.”

“Just checking. But can we make out and deliberately annoy Sam and Nat?”

“Of course.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff. I’ve missed us.”

“Damn straight. Or damn not-straight, in our case. Let’s finish up with the groceries and annoy our friends again; because apparently that’s the kind of relationship we have.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Of course not.”

“Hey lovebirds, you coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming. You guys have no idea what you’re in for…”

 

–Fin–


End file.
